The Orchid
by FoxiLady
Summary: He loved her like the orchid that sat on his grandmother's windowsill. AU.
1. The Orchid

I don't even know what happened, but something told me it was going to be a good day today and it was so somehow a 4,000 word ficlet happened. So here, have my Granny Evans feels!

* * *

_He loved her like the orchid that sat on his grandmother's windowsill._

They planted that seed when he was six. His grandmother was never like mother and father. They brought upon him curses, and she was a blessing. A glass of ice cold milk and warm chocolate chip cookies. An escape from a world that demanded his destiny be predetermined when he desperately ached to create his own.

He found himself able to breathe in her presence, whereas his own home labored to suffocate him. The younger Evans didn't want what his brother had. He didn't want to be rich. He wanted a real mommy and daddy. He wanted to be loved. Grandmother loved him.

Grandmother's garden was a worldwide wonder, and to him a personal sanctuary. As far as the eye could see, rows of exotic flowers flourished and blossomed under her watchful eye. That's all he remembered her spending her portion of the family fortune on anyway. She just wanted to grow them in her garden, flowers of all kinds from every place imaginable on the earth.

Some days, he would simply sit by a patch he found particularly colorful and observe the flowers in their habitat, occasionally petting their petals between a forefinger and a thumb when grandmother was knitting at a sweater in her rocking chair, one he hoped he wouldn't have to wear next Christmas at the dinner table. A bee came by to admire the flowers once, and he grew jealous of its presence, attempting to swat it away. Earned himself a nasty, angry lump on his forehead to say the least.

He didn't know grandmother was watching him closely every time he surprised her with a visit. It seemed he had taken a liking to a sole patch of flowers growing near the roots of a very young ash tree. It piqued her utmost interest.

"You like these flowers, cubby?" she startled him with a voice like sunshine, bubbly, bright and aged. That was the nickname she called him whenever she thought he "resembled a baby bear," whatever that meant. Red started to form on his pudgy cheeks from embarrassment, and he begrudgingly nodded a yes. She'd caught on to his little secret, and he wasn't all too thrilled about it. It just made her chuckle heartily.

"It's not funny, Nana!" he scrunched his face into a grumpy pout, fists balled up at his sides. At her "baby bear's" tone of voice, her laughter stilled and she sat down next to the grumpy little boy who had his back turned to her. A few pregnant moments of silence sat between the elder and her grandchild, but the air seemed fresher the more she breathed it in. It had to be a sign.

"Of course it's not, Soul," she spoke softly while ruffling his snowy white hair, noticing by the tenseness in his muscles, he was being stubborn in accepting the apology. She smiled. Kids.

"Want to plant one?" she whispered.

He didn't smile or answer when he looked back at her, but she could tell he was brimming over with excitement. It was written all over crimson irises. Soul's eyes had this habit of telling vast stories his mouth wasn't always capable of.

That was the day he learned how to properly plant a seed, and take care of it. Grandmother said it would give him a reason to visit her more often, and at this he beamed. She laughed it off, but knew how overbearing her son and daughter in law could be on the boy. Every other day, he came by Nana's to help care for the plant. Soul often stayed longer than he needed to when there was a promise of red velvet cake and strawberry-mint lemonade, his favorites. Sometimes, she'd lift the top off of the creaky, ancient behemoth in the corner of the common room and teach him a few tricks and melodies. Even to this day, he'll admit that the only time he ever really enjoyed hearing the echo of piano keys, was when it was followed by his grandmother's voice.

She called the flower an Orchid, said out of all the flowers in her garden, he had to go and pick one of the most fussiest to pot. He frowned greatly at that, but listened carefully to her instructions. Words that he never knew would resurface fifteen years into the future.

* * *

_"Ah-ah, cubby, not too much water! You'll drown the poor thing. If there's anything that will kill an orchid faster than you can blink, it's letting it sit in a water-logged pot. Without enough air and room for it to circulate, the flower could suffocate and die. You don't want that."_

He met her by the river, on the stone and concrete structure that served as an overpass. It was pouring rain that day, and he was thankful his memory of the weather kicked in enough to bring his umbrella with him to work in the morning when the sky seemed clear. It was funny how things could change so abruptly, and no one would expect it.

She was alone, dressed in a black coat, hugging her knees to her chest soundlessly as water continued to plummet from the grey sky, catching on to her threads and seeping into her ashen-blonde hair. He was so deep in thought walking across the bridge, he almost didn't notice her until his ears caught the sound of a warbly hiccup.

Time stood still for a moment when he turned around, and all he could hear was the rain pounding onto concrete, dropping with thuds into the river he hoped wouldn't overflow like it did four years ago during a flash flood.

All he could see was an orchid, drowning.

He cautiously stooped down next to the soaked woman, hovering the green umbrella over them both. She must have sensed the change in atmosphere, because immediately, her face shot up, hot tears flowing freely down smooth pale cheeks, and an eerily familiar feeling washed over him. Her eyes were a viridian green, green like fresh tea leaves, but they were full of hostility, embitterment even, and he was taken aback when she spoke.

"Go away."

"I could you know," he responded, a low rumble. For a minute, it seemed that she was scared of what she saw. It wouldn't have surprised him if she was. White hair and red eyes don't speak normality and friendliness to everyone. But in an instant the glimmer of fear disappeared and fire replaced it.

"So do it! I don't need your help or anything you have to offer. A couple of men came over, wanting to "help" me too, but hell no. All they want is to mess around with me. Just-just do yourself a favor and leave me alone, please. I'm fine."

A couple moments of silence passed until he let out an exasperated sigh. Fussy one.

"Did any of them offer you coffee?"

She let out a tiny gasp, but frowned afterward, shifting her gaze to anything other than his. He allowed a small smile, not daring to scare her even further with his abnormally sharp teeth. The smile faltered when he noticed her trembling.

"Listen, ma'am," he spoke gently. "If you stay here any longer, you'll catch your death. There's a little place just a few streets down. I'm only trying to help you. Don't think it would sit any kinds of well with me if I left you out here in the rain, alone."

He stretched out his hand, startling the woman. She stared intently at it, but made no move.

"Please?"

Her eyes slowly shifted up to his, as if she were trying to detect any trace of a lie in those words. She groaned when she found none, hesitantly letting his strong hand help her up from the damp floor and motion her under the umbrella.

* * *

_"The soil we planted this baby in has something called fertilizer, cubby. Orchid's need a lot of it to grow strong. Some of the best fertilizers out there for flowers are liquid ones."_

After that rainy day, he found himself visiting the little diner almost every morning, company in tow.

Her name was Maka Albarn. She worked at the local library a couple of blocks past the elementary school across the street from his apartment, a place that well suited her "nerdiness" as he'd jokingly, but fondly come to call it.

"She loves her tea, that girl," their frequent waitress would say, but that didn't quite cut it. Maka, the smarty-pants librarian lady, ate, breathed and slept tea. At some point, she had him able to distinguish over fifty different blends solely by scent or color. She had a favorite, vanilla-chamomile. He though it smelled wonderful, but tasted absolutely rancid, and for a while he considered just sticking to his black coffee. She told him the more bitter the tea was, the healthier it was for the inside of the drinker. He kept her company long enough to learn that important bit, and develop an appreciation for bitter tea.

Her company in itself, Soul thought, was a complete miracle. The day he walked her home in the rain, he expected to never see or hear from her again after they parted. After all, she had said clear as day that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with men. He gave her his number anyway, said if she ever needed a friend to talk to or have tea with, she could always call. To say he was overjoyed to pick up the phone three days later and hear her voice, was an understatement. He also heard a couple of girls giggling and cooing in the background, but paid it little mind.

He never once questioned her about the cause of her being out there in bad weather, and he could tell she was grateful for that. When the time came, Maka would reveal those things to him. Personal things. He might have personal things of his own to offer in turn, but for now he reveled in the fact that they could have a warm drink in each other's company.

Like she drank her tea in multitudes, he drank her in just the same. Up close, and at a distance.

* * *

_"This particular orchid is a demanding one, but soil suits it nicely. Sometimes, these guys like to lift out of the ground too, so don't be surprised when you see little roots poking out. Don't worry Soul, it's not going to sprout legs and run away! Remember when we were outside and you found some by a tree? Well, sometimes they like to grow onto trees, if the tree has food it needs."_

When bitterness showed her bitchface in a house, breaking shit everywhere, it meant healing was soon to follow after her footsteps.

It happened when movie night turned into some sort of a heated argument on who had the worst childhood. None of them knew how it started, but they damn sure wanted it to end. Voices rose in octaves from both parties, shrills and shouts that would've made the devil himself quiet.

" Well at least you had a damn mother! Ever thought of that, hotshot?! Did you ever in your life consider that you were lucky, that there were people without parents? Parents that they needed the most, but only disappointed them by not being all there and messing shit up for fucking life!?

She ended it. She always ended it for him.

"You ungrateful son of a bitch!"

Maka reprimanded him for using foul language all the time, loathed cursing. He could feel the presence of the red demon standing between them, at the center of the common room, waiting for the worst to come so it could snicker at the aftermath, but Soul would not let that happen. Her words cut deep across his chest, but his love for her ran deeper than any black could ever cloud his vision.

He loved her like the orchid that sat on his grandmother's windowsill.

"Maka."

The hurt in his voice made her immediately want to take her words back. He wasn't ungrateful, he wasn't anything near a bad person. He had his reasons for feeling the way he did about his family, legitimate reasons at that. She had no right to yell at him, no right to be angry at him. They were both a little fucked up, and it was neither of their faults. She made a move to get closer to the door, but two strong arms caught her shirt, spinning her around and lifting her off the floor. Maka found she couldn't quite protest against Soul's actions, because his grip on her was abnormally strong and he was incredibly warm. He sat them both back onto the couch, leaning backwards, never letting go of her a single bit. A single clap of thunder startled the both of them. He sighed.

"Figures you'd try to leave when a storm's approaching," Soul jested, voice still a bit hard, and Maka's lips turned downward, silent tears building up in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill. It's like the woman had the power to call upon the rain when she was distressed. A force to be reckoned with for sure. "Don't think it would sit any kinds of well with me if I let you go."

And he wanted the goddess to stay with him, the mushy idiot, forever.

The scale was tipped and the water spilled uncontrollably over her face. As soon as he felt the moisture hit his shirt, his eyes ripped away from the window and to her round face. Like that, all the lingering anger from their quarrel was gone. He frowned. Damn this woman with the oversized brain and the green doe eyes that held so much behind them. Someone that beautiful didn't deserve to cry so much, and he hoped what he was going to do next would stop the waterworks for good.

He kissed her.

He kissed her hard, tasting salt on her lips and her body froze. She didn't know what to do, but when his tongue ran across her bottom lip in a silent plea, she found that hers acted on its own accord in response. At that, Soul's kisses became softer, eventually leaving her mouth, journeying across her pillow soft cheeks, fluttering over her eyelids. Maka kept her eyes closed and took in the feeling of it all as their hands lay loose in each other's tresses. She sighed contently, and was rewarded with a soft peck on the nose.

"Look at me."

It was a demand, but there was no trace of harshness to it. Her eyes slowly fluttered open and landed on his own. For the years she had known Soul, Maka discovered he wasn't all that great when it came to words. So when he did choose to speak, it meant something he wanted to say was of utmost importance. She found what he wanted to say through those eyes.

I'm sorry.

She swore those damn red eyes were birthed from the color of his heart. The flames in them were slowly cooking her alive.

"Me too."

He swore her eyes carried with them a growing forest. He considered abandoning all society to start a brand new living in it. Little did he know, she welcomed the idea, but they each had a lot of old soil to make new.

* * *

_"This particular flower is very light-hungry. That means it needs lots of sunlight. You may need to move it around the house a bit in order for it to grow happily. Got it, soul?"_

So they picked up their tools and started working, started living together in their own imaginary garden.

The dates got more serious. The lovemaking simmered into something even more passionate each time they let it happen. People started to think they were already married. Soul thought they might as well have been as much as they seemed attached at the hip, inseparable, but he'd wait until she was ready for that kind of thing.

She told him about her father, how his lecherous behavior drove her mother away, how he spent his days drinking and gambling his life away while his daughter cried every time he told her he loved her and mama the most. How she had to start her life anew and away from him before she completely broke into pieces the way her family did.

The drunk bastard had the nerve to track his baby girl's whereabouts via a GPS and the police. He barged into their apartment one night while they were peacefully lazing about in a competition to see who could answer the most Jeopardy questions correct. They broke the damn door, and Soul screamed at the elder in a furious fit, handing his ass to him while Maka negotiated with the cops, telling them that there was no danger to be found and she was completely out of harm's way here. To Soul's dismay, he kept coming back every week, but when he visited there was no more yelling, only hard glares his way, and smiles with gifts for his little "angel." She groaned at all the visits and nicknames, but felt lighter in her soul when she noticed he wreaked less and less of booze and sex each time he came. One day, he dropped off a postcard from Maka's mother, and at her shocked expression and slowly growing smile as she read the scribble, Soul couldn't help but crack one of his own. Of course, this didn't mean all was solved. There would be many troubles to come of her mother's chosen lifestyle of distance, but at least it was a start. At least she was trying to regain her parent title.

Soul on the other hand had many demons he struggled with. The lack of positive attention he underwent as a kid, carried over into his adult years. The switch from rich family life to domestic life wasn't at all half bad. It was more eventful for sure, even it was stressful some days, but it allowed him an escape from the condescending eyes of his mother and father, and his over talented older brother, whom constantly served as reminders that he was a nobody. Here, next to his favorite person in the entire world, the girl he loved and cherished, he was allowed to feel like a somebody. She made sure he knew how important his presence was to her.

On some nights, he would awaken her out of slumber with pained moans and sometimes piercing screams, forehead sheeted with cold sweat. He suffered from night terrors, a thing he's fought with ever since he was a child. Maka has learned this over the years, he had explained to her all of his dreams, how all the insecurities he harbored from his past and present life resurfaced ever so often in the form of monsters that chased him through a maze of darkness. She urged him awake with her angelic voice, loud and strong, and rested his head against her chest whenever he refused resumption of sleep. Her heartbeat was what calmed every beast, made them panic and flee from his head.

This woman had the ability to bring both the storm and the rainbow. His gorgeous, strong, blossoming orchid. He wondered if it was possible a flower had the ability to take care of its caretaker, or perhaps it was an equivalent giving of sorts during photosynthesis. Oxygen in exchange for carbon dioxide. Breathing and growing together in peaceful harmony through many toils and snares. She was his anchor, and he was hers.

* * *

_ "Nana, what do you do when it turns brown?" A little, worried soul looked desperately at his grandmother, holding up the pitiful looking excuse of a plant before her._

_"Oh dear," she spoke quietly, carefully taking the pot from his hands. She plucked at the petals of the plant and they easily departed from the stamen._

_"Nana, what are you doing!" The little boy's voice rose in fear. "You're hurting it!"_

_"No no, cubby," she laughed and ruffled his hair. "I'm helping it!"_

_The little boy looked thoroughly confused. At this she chuckled some more._

_"Soul, flowers don't last forever. They wilt when their seasons are over. That means they-well, die."_

_The poor boy looked as if he was going to cry. He had worked so hard taking care of his little orchid. He made sure he listened to all of the steps correctly, but the flower still died. It seemed like everything the boy hoped for met this same fate._

_"Why did I even care?" he yelled, startling his grandmother with the angry tone of voice. "Boys aren't supposed to care about flowers anyway!" With that he fled out the door, disappearing into the garden._

_She found him in no time, under that same ash tree. He was crying. Crying because there were no more flowers. Crying because something he liked taking care of died and he didn't know why. Why he couldn't have anything he liked and keep it._

_"Why Nana?" He sniffled, hiding his face._

_"Because they make new ones."_

_The boy poked his head up to see four seeds resting on the inside of her wrinkled palms. He shot up and hugged the older woman tight, sniffling into her blue dress. She smiled when she spoke calmly unto him._

_" You're different. You are not your mother, your father or Wesley. You are Soul. I told your mother to give you that name. Know why?"_

_He shook his head silently._

_"It's because the moment I saw your little hands, I knew you carried your heart in them. You bring happiness to anything you touch. You give them a soul. That flower was happy, cubby. You two did a great job, and caring about flowers doesn't make you any less of a boy. On the contrary…_

_it makes you more of a man."_

And a man he had become.

When he received a call from Wes one morning, it shouldn't have come to him as a great shock. They all knew she was old as molasses, and all things aged to a stop at some point. He didn't shed a single tear at her funeral, and Maka found it quite worrisome. She didn't know much about Cecily Ann Evans, or "Nana" as Wesley referred to her in a departing speech that made her cry many a tear. Soul never told her much about his grandmother, and she wondered just how much the parent meant to her fiancée.

It wasn't until she was given a tour of Cecily's house and garden after the funeral that she understood. He showed her around every inch of the modest, cozy home. For a woman with millions in the bank, the house only held the bare requirements, minus the large garden outback. 'The woman knew how to live', Maka thought, and wished she was alive to meet her in person. They probably would have been great friends. She mumbled this to herself, but Soul's ears, sharp as a tack offered her a smile at the endearing statement. When they got to the kitchen however, the smile completely dropped.

A draft wafted through the room, sending chills up Maka's spine. She believed in the supernatural enough to assume it could be a ghost's doing. Now alert, she tugged on the sleeve of soul's tux, but it seemed as if his eyes were trained on the little window in the corner. He wordlessly took small steps towards it, and Maka followed curiously behind, wondering what was going on his mind when he reached for the small terracotta pot on the window sill. He cradled the pot in his hands as if it were a baby bird, as if he could break it with one wrong move.

All of the memories came flooding in an instant to him. The day he and Nana planted the first seed, the days he would water the orchid and feed it drops of fertilizer while singing it a little tune. He remembered when it too seemed to perk up from the corner of his eye when she finished baking a fresh cake. He remembered when it died, when they planted new ones, when he told his grandmother to watch over the flowers when he was older and needed to move away and start his own life, like she always wanted him to. He remembered it all when he looked into the pot and spotted a tiny plastic bag of seeds. Orchid seeds.

Maka stood closer to him when she finally saw the dam break. Soul's emotions were often contagious, and she found herself crying with him in little time as she hugged him. She didn't know why she was crying, but trusted him to explain it to her later. He motioned for Maka's hand and gently placed the bag of seeds in the middle of it. She looked up, a little confused when he asked her,

"Want to plant one?"

She laid contently on the hospital bed a year later, wondering how one seed turned into two. He sat beside her, grinning like a mad fool, because he knew the answer.

He loved her like the orchid that sat on his grandmother's windowsill.

His flower was happy.

They both did a great job.


	2. Goddess of Sunshowers

Feelings happened and it just…yeah. I dedicate this to my lovely wife, rebornfromash(tumblr)/FrustrationAtItsFinest(FF), who writes amazeballs SoMa that makes my heart and ovaries do backflips so I thought, hey maybe I can do thing as thank you so, yes. Thank you wife, for all the fucking feelings. THANK YOU ALL FOR THE FUCKING FEELS REALLY. The soul eater fandom is full of AMAZING KICKASS WRITERS AND ARTISTS 3

Anywho, I give you thing. I hope you enjoy thing. NSFW!

* * *

He was doing it again.

It started happening in late March. On certain nights, Maka noticed how Soul's grip around her waist tightened almost uncomfortably, but she didn't dare mention anything of it, since receiving more warmth from her lover was always a delight in the midst of briskly weather- hell, in general really. Basking midday in peaceful silence, entangled in each other's limbs, became one of her favorite past times.

Normally the added closeness would lull her to sleep almost immediately, but today she was wide awake, perhaps because his heartbeat against her cheek felt like it would break free from the confines of his chest at any given moment. While that would of normally made her very happy, she couldn't help but be a little concerned this time around. Something was off about this heartbeat.

It was skipping, like a broken record.

She carefully chanced a glance at him. The room was dark, save for the dim light emitting from the window. It illuminated the contours of his face, allowing her to make out his somber expression. He was staring lifelessly at the outside, watching rain pour like buckets from the grey sky. A particularly loud ker-plop bounced off the glass, right next to their precious potted plant on the window sill.

Another skip. The grip on her waist tightened even further. She closed her eyes and whispered softly.

"What's wrong?"

He stiffened and his heart sped up shortly after. She gently rubbed his back in attempt to soothe him. When he let out a deep breath, she smiled, but it was short lived once she realized he made no effort to respond to her earlier question, so she tried again.

"Nightmare?"

That's when he glanced back at her. Her eyes were still closed and she was breathing comfortable, soft heat against his chest.

"No," he whispered, smiling slightly as he toyed with the ends of her hair, but then the rain began coming down heavier and in an instant the smile was gone. Thunder sounded in the sky and the grip returned full force.

Her eyes flew open with the sudden change, met with that previous somber expression. Her brow furrowed. What exactly was up with him? She never witnessed him so, protective-like…so on guard. Then it hit was like this specifically on rainy days. Did that mean he..? No, it couldn't be, could it?

"Soul, are you… afraid of storms?"

He froze a second time, but turned to stare directly into his fiancée's eyes, which brimmed over with concern.

"Nah, but I don't like them," he removed one arm from her waist to scratch at the back of his head, a thing he often did when he was nervous about something.

"Are you?"

Oh, so they were playing this game.

"Not at all," she responded smugly, letting out a yawn. "In fact, I kind of like it." Soul frowned at that.

"I figured as much," he offered playfully. She thought she detected a hint of worry in his tone, but quickly dismissed it, seeking a peaceful nap. Silence overcame them again as he directed his gaze back to the window. Soft jazz echoed from the radio on the dresser-top on low volume while the rain continued its assault outside onto the pavement. She let the sounds penetrate her thoughts, and sought out the piano to ease her into dream state. Just when she felt the telltale signs of sleep prick at her mind, Soul's deep voice pulled her back into the world of the awake.

"It was raining when I found you."

Her eyes fluttered open, and complimentary colors collided in an instant. She kept quiet as he spoke.

"It was raining when you almost walked out of my life," his eyed slid downward, ashamed to look at hers with the rest of the words that spilled out of his mouth. "It's like you call the water when you're upset. I know, I know it sounds stupid, but I just…I don't ever want to see you… I'm not afraid of the rain by a longshot, but…" Soul closed his eyes and shut his mouth before he could say anything else that didn't make sense. He could feel her stare on him, but the tension dissipated when he felt the pads of her fingertips caress his cheek.

"What?" She asked softly, her voice a jumbled mix of adoration and worry. He remained silent, so she pushed further. "Tell me."

"I don't like it," He started, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She gasped at the sudden contact, but held him there as he spoke against her skin. "Sometimes when it rains too hard, I-um… I think you'll float away with the storm."

He just wanted her to be happy.

Maka sputtered on her words and then erupted in a giggle fit, much to her husband's dissatisfaction. While she laughed away, he pouted grumpily, convinced he had just made a fool of himself.

"It's not funny, Maka."

She stopped, noticing the hurt in his voice. He must have really been serious. She figured he was, but it was just absurd of him to think that she would just up and leave him. What a worry wart her Soul could be. Like that was ever going to happen.

She lifted his face up from her neck and whispered, "Look at me."

The ever obedient puppy did as he was told. He could never deny this woman anything, not even when they bickered over the stupidest shit in the world. Not with those big green eyes of hers.

"Of course it's not, Soul."

He remembered that look. That tone. It was unreal, almost brought tears to his eyes, but he fought against it, letting a genuine smile of his own come to surface instead. He carded his fingers through her silky, golden hair, as she shone in their dark bedroom. Maka reminded him of honey; she harbored just the right amount of sticky sweetness to keep him yearning for more.

Soul pulled her down for a kiss that sent her reeling. They've been together for a while now, yet these kisses never got old, never failed to evoke this feeling from her. He was reluctant to pull apart, but she needed to speak the words burning at the back of her mind.

"I am happy right here," Maka teased his lower lip, causing him to groan and clamp his arms around her like a vice. "I'm not going anywhere."

In an instant, she was underneath him, looking up into familiar pools of dark red. Soul's eyes were colored with passionate love, eyes that held promises of delightfully wicked things to come.

"Damn right you're not," he murmured huskily into her ear, gently sucking on the skin there, worrying it between his teeth. She made no gasp or sound of pleasure, and he started to think that maybe his choice of wording was wrong.

"Um, I mean if that's what you want-uh- I mean you could-"

A playful bite to the nose quieted him, causing his eyes to widen in surprise.

"Ah-ah, shut up," she giggled, soothing the previous gesture with a soft peck. "You worry too much for your own good," She sighed. "When you asked me a month ago, didn't I say yes?"

He nodded slowly and swallowed liquid he didn't know had built up during his silence.

"You did."

Good. There was that goofy grin she loved.

"Now," she purred, sneaking her hands underneath his shirt, skimming her nails over the refined muscle there. His response was instantaneous, and the gruff sigh that escaped from his mouth sparked embers deep within in her loins, one only he was capable of causing. "What's this about me being able to call storms?"

"Well-uh," he paused in between words as Maka brushed kisses along his jaw, neck and collarbone, giggling softly when his stubble tickled her skin.

"You kinda do, a-a lot, so I sort of figured you were some…ah…kind of rain goddess or s-something."

All of a sudden, sleepy and innocent were thrown out the window. The daring minx had awoken, and it thoroughly excited him. She ceased her assault, contemplating the sweet compliment with a smirk.

"Goddess?"

Oh no.

He was in serious trouble. That look and that voice, laced with mischief threatened his composure. He'd never seen her sport that mischievous smile before. To say it gave him a hard on, was an understatement. He was almost completely boned, and they hadn't even done anything yet. Damn this woman. Soul watched silently as her eyes drifted lower and lower down his body, stopping at the noticeable tent in his boxers. He fought the urge to jump her bones right then and there.

"I suppose," she gestured with her eyes, never once breaking her smirk, "that is only a sample of what I can do?"

He gulped, hard.

Fuck.

Fuuuuuuck.

"Alright then. For your sake, I am the almighty rain goddess," Maka beamed, secretly fawning over the new title she had earned from him. His eyes lit up when she discarded her top and leaned in closer.

"Wanna know a secret?" she whispered seductively, trailing her tongue along the shell of his ear. He started moving down her neck in response, gently nipping and sucking any bit of her his mouth could reach in this position. She took it as a yes.

"I call upon rain when there is a fire."

She removed her lips from his ear and looked him dead in the eye. His brow quirked, but his crimson eyes remained soft and caring on hers. It made her blush several shades of red. That look was her weakness. She didn't notice how her hands acquired minds of their own, smoothing their undersides deliciously against the contours of his chest. When she bit her bottom lip, Soul nearly lost it.

"And I wonder who starts them."

Damn it all.

He quickly discarded himself of his shirt and attacked her supple lips with passion. His hands roamed all throughout her body, making sure to lovingly caress every bit of creamy skin, aiming to give her the heat she desired. Her varied, pleasured moans directed his hands, his mouth, his everything to places that needed the most tender love and care.

His grandmother was right. Orchids were extremely light-hungry Maka needed him to be the sun, then so be it.

"Show me," he sighed shakily into her mouth, because somewhere down the line, those wonderfully nimble fingers had made quick work of his underwear and began playing with the wiry hairs of his happy trail. But this wasn't about him. It was about the gorgeously hot woman with the ash-blonde hair and green doe eyes, getting the sunlight she very much needed. "Where do I start them, Maka…?"

She nearly melted when Soul trailed hot kisses down the valley between her two perky mounds. In no time, he slid his wet mouth over a rosy peak, sucking and nipping the sensitive erect skin, and with each brush of his tongue, containing her satisfaction became increasingly difficult. Heat pooled in her lower regions as her sex moistened with excitement.

Meanwhile, Soul paid close attention to the soft sounds that escaped Maka's lungs, allured by her mellifluous nature.

"Here?" he whispered, hot air teasing the moisture left behind. She was making noise, but he decided it wasn't loud enough, so he journeyed farther down the creamy expanse of her stomach, stopping when he felt those glazed, mossy eyes on him. Her chest rose and fell quite rapidly with the action, tiny huffs escaping from slightly parted lips. He threw on a sharkish smirk before going predator, swirling his tongue around and inside of her belly button. "Here?" When her voice only slightly rose, he lifted her legs onto his shoulders and splayed steamy, open mouthed kisses on the inside of her thighs. He paused to utter the question again when Maka squeaked in approval, muscles tensing with the heat that gathered there. He needed to stop teasing her like that, or the goddess would have to make him pay.

"Hnnn, yes, hah… everywhere…ah- AAAH, DAMNIT SOOUL!" She gasped loudly as his tongue smoothed over her dripping slit, then filed in for more. The fire had been stoked and she was becoming feverish. The louder she cried, the harder the rain fell from the sky down unto the world below.

Perhaps the storms weren't that bad after all, not if he caused them in this way. Her hands desperately gripped at the silk sheets as he eased in closer to her womanhood, joining his fingers in the mix as they coaxed the siren out of hiding, teasing the magic nub above her entrance. These were his orchid's petals, a sanctuary sensitive to touch. They glimmered exquisitely in the dim light with fresh honeyed dew, and he took pride in the fact that he was the only man who possessed a green thumb both gentle and powerful enough to induce these reactions.

"Shit," Maka suddenly hissed, and he ceased his ministrations all together and moved to hover over her delicious mess of a state. He didn't want her to spill just yet, nor himself. All that harmonious music had rendered him painfully hard.

"Such a dirty mouth," he jested huskily, licking his fingers clean. She wanted to slap that shit eating grin off of his face so badly. Why'd he have to stop when she was so damn close?

"You're…one to talk…" Maka fired back, causing Soul's grin to widen. It excited and pissed her off at the same time and oh, he loved teasing her.

She closed her eyes when he moved over her again, hard and hot against her thigh. He grazed her entrance sensuously with his tip, and it sent her temperature soaring.

"No, love," Soul countered, sending shivers down her spine with the tenderness of his voice. "Anything that comes from you is pure."

Damn this bee of a man. He knew just the right words, the right movements to coax the nectar from her true center. She was falling for him all over again, in the confines of his warm embrace.

And those fucking bedroom eyes.

"Finish what you started, please," she whispered, smiling softly up at him. Green allowed itself to be drowned in red as his lips began their slow descend upon hers, while he acquainted himself with a familiar home.

She yelped in surprise when he flipped them over, and he was underneath her now, hissing and writhing in absolute pleasure as she rocked against him.

"This is… hnng… your throne…hah…after all…"

The moment Soul felt himself sheathed fully within Maka was when he started believing she was a legitimate rain goddess because, holy fuck! She was so damn wet; he was becoming liquid heat inside her. With each collision of hips and each breathy cry of gratification that followed, they felt themselves rapidly going up in thick smoke, evaporating with the other's touch while it hailed outside.

"Soul," she moaned as their rhythm sped up, noticing how her name had become a steady mantra on his tongue. Her nails scraped against sensitive scar tissue that ran across his chest, a painful reminder of the day he made her so angry, a storm snapped electric cables above them. Even when she put him in harm's way, he still stood by her, protected her with his life. There was no way in hell Maka could leave this man, not after he saved her life, countless times. She would make him see this. "I…aaah…I'm not going anywhere. You… hear me?" Not after all they've been through. This had to be real.

"I love you…okay?"

"Yes…," He sighed, voice thick and raspy, cracking when he felt her walls clench tighter on him as they rocked against each other in the dark. She leaned down to thread her fingers into his silvery hair.

"Do…do you… love me, Soul?"

This woman would be the death of him, he was sure of it.

"Maka…" Soul felt himself coil tighter and tighter while she neared her breaking point. He could see it building in her eyes, and was certain his next few words would break the dam.

"I don't…love you." Before she could begin to react, she felt a marvelous pressure against her clit, promising release.

"I…I fu-…haaah…I fucking worship you."

That was it. The scale tipped over, and Maka sang his name to the heavens with stars in her vision. He lost himself shortly after, spilling beautifully into her.

They laid in an ungraceful tangle of limbs, trying desperately to regain a normal breathing pattern. After a few moments of comfortable silence, the storm had calmed, and their heartbeats had synchronized. Soul opened one eye to peer out the window, pleasantly surprised that the sun had managed to poke its head through the clouds…

Yet the rain continued. Only this time, it was lighter.

He opened his mouth to comment on it, but when he looked down, Maka was already fast asleep, face buried against his chest. He smiled, softly kissing her forehead before drifting off beside her. The peaceful expression she wore mimicked the weather outside.

His wife to be was the goddess of sun showers. Boy was he a lucky man.

For the rest March into days of April that promised rain, Soul welcomed the weather with a huge grin, perhaps even too eagerly. Maka began to wonder if he was truly being forgetful, or if he started leaving his green umbrella at home on purpose. She warned that he would get sick if he kept it up, but he countered every time that he could never get sick of something so beautiful…even on the days he sat in bed with a bowl of her chicken soup and a box of tissues at his side.


End file.
